


A Personal Thing

by allmilhouse



Category: The Racket (1951)
Genre: Character Study, M/M, no slash just vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27602318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allmilhouse/pseuds/allmilhouse
Summary: Nick Scanlon used to bethebigshot in town, but these days it's hard to find someone who remembers. Tom McQuigg does
Relationships: Tom McQuigg/Nick Scanlon





	A Personal Thing

Scanlon's got too many irons in the fire, but that’s the way he likes it. The syndicate's been dumping more and more on his plate lately, treating him less like the former boss of the town and more like one of his own lackeys, but that just gives him something to prove. The damn crime commission's got everyone on edge, but Nick Scanlon's seen a thing or two by now, from the end of prohibition to wartime rationing. If there's a way to make a buck, he'll find it, and if there's a guy on the take, he'll find him and make him take it. 

His brother getting engaged to some cheap singer was a real blow. He’d warned him time and time again- stay away from women, they're trouble. Especially nightclub singers, who seemed to make up most of the women they met in this line of work. But Joe was young, and foolish enough to be turned by a pretty face and a husky voice. Nick could pay this one to go away, or find another gal and have the whole thing blow over in a week. So far, so manageable. 

And then Tom stopped by, walking right in like he owned the place, and all of Nick’s plans went out the window. 

Tom hadn’t changed. Still cool, detached, taking everything in with that wry, bemused look of his. Back in the day Nick used to spend hours trying to rile Tom up, just to bring some crest of emotion onto that placid face, only to get worked up himself. 

But he didn't have the time now. 

\----

They'd been quite the pair in the old days, tearing up the old tenth ward together. Well, not exactly together. McQuigg was only a patrolman at the time, but he seemed to turn up at every venture Nick launched. 

Nick prided himself on steering clear of the usual vices that brought powerful men down. Women were at the top of the list, naturally, but booze wasn't far behind. He never indulged in anything stronger than celebratory champagne. 

And so it was with a glass in hand, on the opening night of his newest gambling parlor, when he spotted Tom McQuigg at the bar. He was cool and casual even then, despite his blue uniform peeking out underneath his overcoat, like a poorly concealed powderkeg in a room full of matches. He smiled at the recognition, and Scanlon frowned. 

He cocked his head to the side, nodding in the direction of one of the back rooms, and McQuigg nodded back firmly, placing his large hands on the bar as he got up. 

Nick watched him cross the room before following. He was sitting at the desk, comfortable as could be, and didn't even look up when Scanlon slid the door closed. 

“You got some nerve showing up here,” he starts, sitting opposite him. “You’ve become a bit of a notable figure around these parts, McQuigg. Making a name for yourself cleaning up the ward, ignoring my boys when they try to pay you a visit. My boys are getting sore feelings.”

“Told you I didn’t want any house calls,” he says, shrugging. He’s a big guy but an even bigger presence, his physicality on display even when he barely moves a muscle. Scanlon watches him, struck by his nonchalance. McQuigg’s trapped in a backroom in a mob-controlled building, filled with people who would kill him without even thinking twice, but he couldn’t be more calm or collected. He’d call him stupid, but from the way he busted up their joint on 59th street last month, he knew he there had to be a brain in there somewhere.

McQuigg snorts then, and Scanlon’s face grows hot, realizing he said that last part out loud. 

“So what would you say, if not stupid?” McQuigg asks, a ghost of a smile still lingering on his face. Scanlon’s torn between wanting to slap it off or kiss it off. 

“Stubborn. Tenacious. Pig-headed.” He stands up and approaches McQuigg, punctuating each step with a word, until he’s leaning over him. “Hung up on lost causes.”

Those bored eyes look him up and down, completely unconcerned that Scanlon’s got him cornered. “I wouldn’t call you a lost cause, just misguided.” 

Now it’s Scanlon’s turn to snort. “Think everyone should be like you, huh? Get a wife and a tiny old house and play by the rules?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

Scanlon doesn’t like that answer. He didn’t like it the first time, three months ago after a scuffle in a dirty alley when they first became acquainted. “Your boss doesn’t. The D.A. doesn’t. The governor doesn’t. What makes you so special?”

He shrugs again, making Scanlon seethe even more. “You tell me.”

\----

Nick Scanlon was his family's only source of income at 16, and was running his own outfit by the time he was 19. He supported his ailing old Ma until she died, and spoiled his kid brother Joe, sending him to the finest schools, and preparing him for a better life than he had. Not that he didn't believe in the power of the underworld, but maybe Joe could aim a little higher, and shine a little brighter living amongst society's best. Nick had quickly learned that anything- prestige, power, placement- could be bought, and he'd be damned sure he’d have the bankroll for it. 

When Joe joined him after college, he wasn't disappointed exactly, but it wasn't ideal, timing-wise. It was just after the syndicate merger, when he joined forces with the all-powerful national figure known only as the Old Man. It was a guaranteed sure-thing and the deal of a lifetime, but also challenging, aligning all his various enterprises with what the Old Man wanted. Between restructuring his entire operation, politely acquiescing to the demanding changes coming from a boss that sounded more like something out of a child's comic book, and trying to show his kid brother the ropes, he nearly lost his mind. His nerves still haven't fully recovered from that delicate juggling act, and that was three years ago. 

Three years of middle-managing, playing supervisor to the syndicate's laundry list of paid-off stooges, from the governor's office to the D.A.'s, all the way down to a few beat cops paid to look the other way, all while managing the boiling anger and toughness he’d never been able to shed. Overseeing real estate dwindles, rigging elections, this was the new big-time. He hardly ever used his gun these days, the pen and the threat of the press proving mightier. They'd been saying for years that the old days would never come back, but Scanlon never really believed it until now. 

And look at him now. His own men whispering behind his back, questioning his methods. The very same methods that had taken him to the top of the city, now suddenly weren't good anymore. Nick Scanlon wasn't good enough anymore. Well there was one guy around who still considered him a threat. 

\----

“I said I didn’t like house calls,” he says by way of greeting, lingering in the doorway long enough for his large shadow to fill most of the opposite wall. 

Scanlon’s not looking at the door, instead sitting on his sofa, toying with a wine glass. “And yet you show up on my doorstep.”

“True,” Tom concedes the hypocrisy, slowly making his way into the apartment. “But then I didn’t announce my arrival by way of explosives. Mrs McQuigg will make a full recovery, by the way. I assume you were worried.” He plucks the wine glass out of Scanlon’s hand and takes a sip, grimacing slightly before placing the glass on the coffee table. “You never could pick a good vintage.”

“I never touch the stuff,” he reminds the cop, still not looking at him. “Saw too many guys taken down by the bottle.”

“And just exactly how do you expect to be taken down?” Tom asks, lightly enough.

Scanlon turns to face him then, the quiet mania and growing paranoia clear on his face despite the dark room. “The job.”

For a big guy Tom moves fast, and before Scanlon can react, Tom’s big hands are gripping the lapels of his dressing gown, and he’s hauled to his feet. “The sad-sack act doesn’t suit you. You’re a live-wire, hotheaded and unpredictable. No one knows where you’re gonna strike next but brother, watch out.”

He sneers, but it seems mechanical and his words sound forced. “I don’t need some dumb cop to tell me who I am.”

Tom considers. “I don’t know, cops and robbers seem to go together. Stands to reason I should have some influence on you.” That seems to be the wrong thing to say, as Scanlon deflates a little. “Christ, the syndicate’s done a real number on this town, if the number one racketeer needs a goddamn pep talk.”

“I don’t need-”

He adjusts his grip on the collar, tugging Scanlon closer so that they’re inches apart. “The hell you don’t. Nick, I’m a cop, and you know I’m a good one. I’m not gonna tell you to buck up and get out there and swindle a fortune. But I am honest, and you know that, and you know that I know you’re dangerous. I don’t care what those high-priced goons you’ve got are telling you, but they don’t know you, or what you’re capable of. It’s one thing to buy off the governor, it’s another to shoot at his damn motorcade.”

Scanlon smiles then, a mean look in his eyes. “That was something special.”

“You were top of the newsreels for months. You could do it again. A town like this, stagnant with corruption, anything could happen- provided it’s not in my district."

"No promises where my boys end up. If they're even my boys anymore."

Tom nods in understanding. "It’s hard to tell where anybody stands.” 

“‘Cept for you and me.” Scanlon agrees, suddenly looking wistful. “Say, you wouldn’t need a place to stay tonight, on account of your house being a bit of a hotspot?”

“Nah, I said before I didn’t care for all this,” he says, letting go of Scanlon to wave vaguely around. Ignoring the hungry way Scanlon eyes him, he turns to leave. “Besides, I’ve got work to do tonight. And I suspect you do as well.”

He leaves without another word, and Scanlon turns to face the window. He took control of the city once, when there were only two sides playing. That was nothing compared to it now, and it would be all the more sweeter when he could win it again, and rub it everyone's faces- most of all Tom's.

**Author's Note:**

> personally I don't this version fucks as hard as the '28 one but goddamn are the mcquigg/scanlon scenes ELECTRIC


End file.
